Midnight Musings
by SweetGoldStar
Summary: She could feel so lost sometimes, completely at a loss for words. She would never tell anyone, not her friends, not her family, never. Never would she tell about her unhappiness. Only sometimes him.


**Hey peeps! I wrote something that's a little bit of my usual stuff. I prefer writing pieces that include human interaction and actual events, whereas this is a little fic about Brennan's thoughts. I don't always enjoy reading these kind of things either, I usually only like them when they're really well written. And although I'm not to sure this is one of those, I still sorta like it. Possibly because it gave me something to do when I couldn't sleep myself last night. lol It might be a little OOC, not sure, but maybe Brennan just becomes a little different when she's all alone in bed, I don't know. **

**I didin't think I'd be back with a new one-shot so soon. I wrote 2 this weekend and added the last chapter from The Truth in The Sessions (that was already written so I guess it doesn't really count.). So it was a good weekend. I didn't think I'd have a new idea so soon.**

**Okay I think I'm rambling. Sorry, I get that sometimes. Maybe because of the story I'm about to post or because I'm having a bad day. Let's just go back to the story...**

**Disclaimer: I'm not sure who own Brennan's thoughts, maybe Brennan or Emily or Hart, but anywho there not mine. The last line of this fic is kinda based on the poem "A man of words and not of deeds", which I don't own either. I don't own much so it seems.**

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A soft ray of light was shining through her half-open window, bathing the room in an oasis of peace she didn't quite feel herself.

The only sound was coming from the ventilator on the ceiling that was offering her some wind, in an attempt to bring some cool in the warm room.

She opened her eyes once more, they showed no intention of falling shut again. Wide awake, she stared at her ceiling.

Sleep is such a funny, complicated thing. It won't come when you want it to, all of a sudden it's just there. It creeps up on you, unexpected, like a thief in the night.

She took in her slightly lighted room, it unnerved her. The whole place was quiet, restful, but not her. It made her feel lost, like she was the only one awake, with nothing to do or to say, cause everything else was sleeping.

She could feel so lost sometimes, completely at a loss for words. You could ask her any concrete question, she'd still know the answer and she'd give it to you right away. But she'd feel so lost, she couldn't even explain.

And she'd feel selfish, selfish for not feeling happy. Cause didn't she have it all, all to be happy? Friends, family, a career, certain wealth, a name. Was she a bad person for often feeling like something was missing, unsatisfied?

And then there was her partner, her crazy annoying partner. He could fill every empty whole. She couldn't feel happy with all the things that should make everyone happy, not really. But him alone, even without all the other stuff, could make her stop wondering. Now how's that even possible?

She would never tell anyone, not her friends, not her family, never. Never would she tell about her unhappiness.

Only sometimes him.

She had always been an outcast, she knew she wasn't the only one either. These days you could turn into an outcast so easily: not living up to the standards of beauty, not being smart enough, being too smart,… .

She never really cared though. She didn't need to be one of the popular girls, mostly didn't want too. She was happy, no not happy, content, with who she was, with what she was like.

But sometimes she wished she was more like those girls. Sometimes she wished she was more like her best friend. Angela was a rather special case herself. And although she wasn't really like the other popular girls, she could easily fit in.

And sometimes Brennan found herself jealous of her, of them. But she would never tell.

Only sometimes him.

Sometimes she would confide in him, more and more so. Share with him her desire to be like Them. Those who were constantly talking about love, cause that was her greatest difference with them from her point of view. She seemed incapable to love.

Or to fall in love. Cause wasn't there a difference? Wasn't being in love what they mostly talked about? She'd picked up on the nuance by now.

Love she could understand, love she experienced on a certain level. You love friends and family, that's what they say, and she did. She knew what that was like.

But being in love? She had no idea, she was lost on the subject. She heard about it, read about it, saw it even, she knew what it was supposed to be like. But she honestly had no clue what it felt like.

She could write about it, based on what was explained to be in love. The so called butterflies in your stomach, the light head. Yes, she knew the terms, yet they were a foreign concept to her.

And then there was her partner, her annoying caring partner. Was she in love with him? He was her best friend too, therefore she loved him, that much was clear. But was she in love with him? How was she ever supposed to know when she didn't know how it felt like in the first place? How did these popular girls do this? Everything always seemed so much easier for them.

Yet she wouldn't want to swap. Cause after all she still liked who she was, what she was like.

And then there was her partner, her caring sweet partner. He took her for who she was. An outcast. But he made it acceptable. He could fill every whole that being an outcast brought with it.

She could only hope that every outcast, each and every one of them, would have someone like him in their lives.

Someone who can stop making you feel lost, but still keep you at a loss for words sometimes, all at the same time.

Was that what being in love was about? It didn't sound like the general definition. But wasn't an outcast allowed to form his own?

After all he was HER partner, her sweet protective partner. And nothing about them was ever general. Maybe they were outcasts, maybe they were just special, unique like every single one of us. Something those popular people seemed to forget sometimes, they always tried to be so alike. Wasn't that what made them the true outcasts, for not allowing themselves to be their own unique selves?

And then there was her partner, her protective always present partner. She could imagine his voice by now, telling her to shut her brain down and get some sleep.

It is such a complicated thing. Not being able to sleep makes you think. Think about stuff she wouldn't be thinking about if he were there. But he was never there when she slept, or when she didn't sleep because he wasn't there to stop her from thinking. Such a complicated thing.

Starting to think causes you to be unable to sleep. You have to stop thinking in order to fall asleep. And in order to fall in love? She wondered.

But the only time she really stopped thinking, was when she was sleeping.

Or when he were there… . Cause then there's her partner, her always present soothing partner.

Sleep is such a funny, complicated thing.

Was that what falling in love was like? Like falling asleep? Sinking away in a deep slumber, nothing tangible. But sometimes something so great that you can't fight it? Funny and complicated?

She closed her eyes again, seeing a picture from her partner, her soothing lovely partner, in her mind.

And as she focused on his charming, always encouraging smile and his reassuring brown eyes, she fell, and fell, and fell indeed.

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**I'd really like your opinions on this one, so please press the button. I'd like to know whether I can write these kind of things in the future if I'd like to or if I should just stop trying to imagine what other people think when they can't sleep or in any other circumstance for that matter. lol**


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